October 20, 1983:
"I believe everything is in order," Andrei murmured to himself. He was ready to leave Iceland at a moment's notice, assuming he received the appropriate orders from his superiors. Even with the new threat, he was expecting it. The Race were not able to win and it was only a matter of time before they figured it out, even with Straha's lunacy.
Reminds me of Hitler, He thought to himself. Hitler had refused to give in, even when Germany itself was being invaded, outnumbered half a dozen to one, and with not to nothing to fight with. Straha was doing the same thing. Based on the communications they intercepted, it was only his delusions that were prolonging the war.
Despite the unfavorable weather, the Race was launching counterattacks into Russia. The sheer stupidity of the maneuver caught many of the Generals off guard and the Race advanced as much as 200 kilometers in a few areas. Now that many of the roads had turned into mud, they were finding it next to impossible to advance further.
"Foolishness, sheer foolishness." Andrei sighed. The Race was finished but they fought on anyway. His only problem with it was that they could still kill many people before they were beaten for good. Even in 1945, the Soviet Union suffered close to 1.5 million deaths at the hands of the Germans.
Using asteroids as weapons, however... that was something that truly chilled his blood. The first one killed close to 30,000 people in the United States and would have killed many more had it hit closer to shore. Over the past month, half a dozen others had been sent their way as well. So far, the human powers had been relatively lucky. All of them had exploded in the atmosphere, and never over any major cities. Astronomers estimated that the asteroids that were used were only between 20 and 40 meters in diameter.
The difficulty was that no one knew how many were out there. Asteroid detection was in its infancy, but everyone knew there were likely hundreds of times more Near-Earth Objects than what they had found so far. To make matters worse, there was nothing they could do to stop them once they entered the atmosphere.
Astronomers from all around the world were searching the skies for asteroids being sent towards Earth. Even if they could do nothing to shoot it down, it was hoped that it would at least provide time for people to evacuate if it was aimed at a major city. So far, they had exploded in the atmosphere over the ocean or isolated areas, indicating that the Race did not know how to precisely aim the rocks.
The difficulty was that even if they could determine the rock would hit a major city, evacuating would be an enormously difficult task, and many would not be moved in time. It was previously estimated to take a minimum of two weeks to evacuate Moscow in case of an attack, and that was under the assumption of complete cooperation.
"We must kill Straha, whatever else we do." Andrei sighed to himself. The official plan was to capture him and try Straha for crimes against humanity, along with many of the other shiplords. However, Andrei hoped that he would be killed, since the war was going on largely because of him.
On the bright side, he at least did not have any meetings to endure for the next few days. He was merely looking through paperwork, wishing once again that he was on the front lines, despite his physical weakness. Andrei had always hated political generals, and during the war, he had become one of them. Yes, he served the Soviet Union, but even with the risk, he would much rather be fighting the lizards than arguing with "allies" in Iceland.
"General, another rock has just slammed into Earth." His adjutant informed him. "It exploded over Alaska, and so far as we can tell, no casualties."
"For which God be thanked," Andrei muttered, even though he technically wasn't supposed to believe in God. His adjutant either didn't hear that or had the sense to pretend he didn't; most likely the latter. "Do we have any intelligence on more?" It wouldn't do them much good, but Andrei and his superiors wanted to at least look like they were making an effort to stop them.
"No, Comrade General." His adjutant replied and left the room.
Once he received the information, Andrei continued his job. His unofficial job as spying on the West had mostly come to an end. Not in so many words, but many on both sides were hoping that the Cold War would come to an end.
Another advantage of being a political general was that he heard tidbits of information that field commanders would not. Even though Andrei had only caught limited information, he had some knowledge about a treaty between the United States and the Soviet Union that would limit the number of strategic weapons in their stockpile. Such talks had been going on behind the scenes for years, but until now, little progress had been made.
The talks were intended to limit strategic warheads to 4,000, and over time, reduce their tactical warhead numbers as well. Not so coincidentally, that was roughly how many the Soviet Union had, perhaps a few hundred less. Andrei knew some of the hardliners in the Kremlin would be unhappy about this deal, the fact remained that the Soviet Union had to adapt if they wished to survive. Even before the war, it was becoming apparent that they were approaching complete bankruptcy and could not afford to maintain the massive size of the military. Studies had been conducted about how long it would take to replace the nuclear weapons that the Race had destroyed. None of them had been made public except to those of the highest rank, which Andrei found rather damning. Had they been able to replace them within a decade, or indeed at all, he would have received a copy of the report.
True, this would likely have been the case even without the Race, but their attempted conquest had massively accelerated the process. I hope we do survive this, Andrei worried with his ingrained pessimism. Even if he had some misgivings about certain leaders and policies, he still believed in the Soviet Union and in communism.
One lesson that they had learned was just how effective orbital supremacy could be. The Race was only slightly more advanced than the human powers on the ground, but now that they were over 2,000 kilometers above the surface, they were nearly untouchable. Evidently, Straha had been the only one to think of using it to their advantage; even by Russian standards, males of the Race lacked imagination. Their starships were completely unarmed and maneuvering asteroids to hit Earth was difficult at best; sometimes, they missed entirely.
Andrei thought of a different scenario: what if their starships had been armed with weapons and had been capable of bombing them from orbit where they had few opportunities to hit back? He could not immediately figure out what the exact consequences would be, but even from such a brief thought, concluded that it would have been disastrous. It would make the losses they had suffered thus far looked trivial by comparison.
Looking at it from that perspective, Earth had been extremely fortunate, but they could not depend on such carelessness happening again. They would need to have the capability to contest any aliens in orbit. However, the Outer Space Treaty prohibited any such weaponization.
"We may have to end that treaty," Andrei realized to himself. Had any of the diplomats on either side considered that scenario? It was quite possible that the Race would attempt to invade again, or failing that, simply try to destroy the human species. An even bigger nightmare was to face another alien species who was far more advanced than either the Race or the humans.
He debated with himself for several minutes, deciding whether or not to pass the information to the Politburo. Andrei was mostly sure at least somebody had thought of it; he might have been intelligent, but he was far from the only intelligent individual to serve the Soviet Union. Still... it was worth mentioning to the Politburo just in the unlikely event it had not occurred to anyone else. The threat was too big to take chances with.
Andrei dialed the phone that connected to the Politburo in Moscow, after making the standard checks for any bugs. "Hello?" A member of the Central Committee asked, although Andrei could not immediately remember his name. It took a few moments to realize that it was Andrei Gromyko."
"Yes, this is General Andrei Taktarov, comrade." Andrei responded. "I'm calling about the current negotiations for limiting our strategic stockpile."
"The details of the negotiations are classified, comrade." Gromyko reminded, sounding ready to hang up on him.
"I'm not asking about the details; I was inquiring as to whether or not any modifications to the Outer Space Treaty have been proposed." Andrei spoke his piece.
"We have not seen it necessary to do so; the current negotiations are sufficient for the time being." Gromyko snapped.
"Comrade... I believe we should be prepared to face this situation in the future." Andrei decided to tell him and endure the consequences later. This threat was too strong to ignore. "Even with the Race beaten back just about everywhere, they still have near-total orbital supremacy. We are helpless against their asteroid attacks and only their inexperience at orbital bombardment has kept the effects from being much greater. We were unable to hit them until they were almost on top of us, and it's quite possible that when the colonization fleet comes, we may have to fight another great battle."
"You may be interested to know that you are not the only one to express these kinds of concerns." Gromyko stated. Andrei could tell that any modifications were not being discussed, at least not right this moment.
"I know any agreement here will be difficult, but I believe the effort is worth making." Andrei tried to keep his voice calm. "The Race may not be the only alien species out there capable of interstellar travel. Their ships have no capability of hitting us from orbit save through the dubious prospects of aiming rocks in our direction, but we may not be so lucky in the future." He gave all the details of his concern, spending close to twenty minutes speaking.
Throughout Andrei's rant, Gromyko said not a word. He took so long to reply that he was beginning to think Gromyko had simply hung up on him. "With numerous generals warning of the same scenario, perhaps we can find ways to modify the treaty. Hitting them with thermonuclear bombs before they went into Low Earth Orbit might have made this war much easier." A good part of that was the unwillingness of the major human powers to use them unless necessary, but beyond a few hundred kilometers, their ICBMs and anti-satellite weapons could not reach the Race. "The General Secretary will make the final decision to add to these talks."
"Please convey to him the urgency of the request, Comrade." Andrei was not foolish enough to actually order him to do so.
"Perhaps," Gromyko responded and hung up. Andrei only hoped they listened. He began writing a memo to inquire whether or not the colonization fleet possessed weapons. Unlikely, but it was something that had to be prepared for.
XXXXXXXXXX
October 24, 1983:
"I thought this was supposed to be over soon." Melanie complained as they continued to march. Two months ago, their advance appeared to be unstoppable. The lizards in Ohio were thrown out entirely, as were the ones in Pennsylvania. Even in Indiana, only a few pockets remained and most considered them not worth the trouble of taking.
"Well, you can't claim the lizards don't have courage." Thomas responded, instinctively looking up at the sky. Ever since the nuclear detonations in captured airports, the lizards had lost air superiority. More and more American planes were seen, while fewer lizard aircraft went up to challenge them.
"Remember, this war may be in our favor now, but the lizards can still kill you if you fuck up, so watch your backs." Their platoon leader instructed them.
Most people thought the lizards had little left to fight with, and with the weather changing, few imagined that they would be able to launch such a large counteroffensive, but they did just that. The southwest portion of Colorado was retaken by the lizards, along with portions of New Mexico, Texas, and California. In the eastern part of the United States, the lizards were nearly finished, although significant portions of Kentucky and Tennessee still belonged to them.
In the southwest, however, they were still a force to be reckoned with. While not pleasant, the weather was more tolerable to them and until recently, there were fewer Allied soldiers to hold them back.
"Hope we catch them with their pants around their ankles," Katherine hoped, hauling an M47 Dragon anti-tank rocket instead of a rifle. They had relatively few tanks left and the Dragon was more than capable of destroying any lesser vehicle. "Fucking lizards; why can't they figure out they've been beaten?"
"They're being ordered to fight and as long as their superiors tell them to do it, they will." Thomas remarked. "Least that's my guess; hard to come up with any other explanation."
"Quiet down; we're reaching a place where the lizards still have a strong presence in the skies." The lieutenant ordered. Melanie didn't think casual conversation would do so, but did as she was ordered; there was no point taking changes.
The goal of their battalion and of others in their general vicinity was to outflank and cut off the lizard advance. Even now, they had a tendency to leave their flanks vulnerable and most of their remaining strength was at the spearhead of their advance. So Melanie devoutly hoped, at any rate. She had had enough fighting to last her half a dozen lifetimes.
"Feeling a little too exposed here," Mark whispered to himself. The ground they were walking on was almost completely flat. There were few trees, and the tall grass they encountered was insufficient to provide much camouflage.
The lizards might have been foolhardy to launch a counterattack under these conditions, but nobody could deny that it worked, at least to a limited degree. Their spearhead was close to Lubbock by now. From what she was able to piece together, they were holding on by their fingernails. The city was surrounded and being taken block by block.
"That ought to give us some cover," Thomas sighed with relief. The sun was going down. Most likely, within an hour, it would be completely dark. Melanie didn't see any need to respond.
"I expect that's part of the plan," Katherine reminded. When they were finally given the order to half for the time being, there were visible groans of relief all throughout the battalion, although all of them had learned to keep their guard up even through exhaustion.
To keep their minds off what was coming, the men and women around them shared cigarettes, rations, and dirty stories. Some of them were even new to Melanie, something she hadn't previously imagined. In the past, she would have screamed at something so disgusting, but now it hardly bothered her at all. Her own language had grown quite course, making her wonder if she would be fit for civilian life after this.
Soon after they sat down, runners passed the message that a lizard detachment was spotted about 10 miles southwest and they would be moving again in two hours. "Why didn't they just tell us that through the radio?" Melanie asked.
"Probably didn't want to risk the lizards intercepting it," Thomas explained.
The time ticked by slowly. Melanie couldn't even remember falling asleep, at least until someone was sending light kicks to her ribs to wake her up. "All right, all right," She mouthed, weakly pushing herself to her feet. Melanie felt through her backpack until she found her night vision goggles.
"Get your asses moving!" The lieutenant ordered.
"How far is this supposed to be again?" Katherine asked, rubbing her eyes.
"Ten miles," Mark yawned and stretched his back. Ten miles? Many of them could barely stand at the moment, much less walk that war.
"I have a bad feeling about this," Thomas sighed.
"You have a bad feeling about everything," Katherine pointed out.
"True, but I'm often right." Thomas responded.
Most of them had fallen asleep in their exhaustion, cursing as they woke, but after approximately fifteen minutes, their march began. Melanie simply focused on putting one feet in front of the other, trying to keep herself from collapsing. A few minutes in, she tripped over a rock and fell on her knees. She got back on her feet, brushing off her brother's concern.
They could hear bombs going off not too far from them. Along with everyone else, Melanie hoped it was their aircraft and artillery softening up the Race's positions.
"Masks on!" The radio screamed. Melanie hastily did so; gas was an excellent weapons against the lizards, but more than once, the changing wind patterns blew it onto the Allied lines as well.
"Do you have any antidote?" Mark asked. It was likely nerve gas and while a gas mask was better than nothing, there was a shortage of proper protective clothing. Supporting close to 13 million Americans in uniform was not an easy thing to do.
"No, and I wish I did." Thomas sighed. "Fuck!" Melanie's eyes widened, since her brother rarely used a word that severe, despite being a soldier for over year.
Worse luck, the lizards weren't asleep at the switch. Even in the darkness, muzzle flashes could be seen. Melanie hit the dirt, unable to get enough oxygen through the mask. Hope they haven't managed to capture any of ours, She worried. It hadn't happened to her so far, since they didn't seem to have the concept of chemical warfare, but with the lizards being desperate, they might try almost anything.
After ten minutes of bombardment, the order was given to advance once again. Melanie moved as quickly as she could, diving to the ground every half-minute; some were doing so even more frequently. Shells began to answer the American attack. Not as many as the Allies had, but a fair number. Here and there, screams could be heard in the dark, with medics running through the chaos trying to save whoever they could.
The American fired a series of shells, some chemical, some conventional explosives, then advanced a couple hundred meters. Even after close to an hour, neither side was anywhere near within range of infantry weapons.
"Aircraft!" Katherine screamed, pulling Thomas down to the ground. Melanie grabbed a trowel, trying to dig a foxhole for cover. Dirt went in every direction, but no matter how fast she moved, it wasn't going to be enough.
Nobody knew how many aircraft the lizards had, but they were releasing everything. Two tanks about a mile east exploded, as did four other vehicles close by. They had not come unprepared, however; surface-to-air missiles succeeded in bringing down at least one lizard aircraft, possibly more. Melanie wished she knew everything that was going on, but one thing she had rubbed into her face again and again was just how chaotic even a skirmish could be, let alone a strong counterattack.
"Least it wasn't their fucking helicopters," Katherine breathed a sigh of relief when the air raid was over. The lizard planes could drop a great deal of ordinance, but while less vulnerable than their helicopters, were also less deadly. The surviving vehicles continued to move and kept firing artillery.
"Might not have any left," Mark reminded. Melanie didn't care about the reason so long as she didn't have to face those monsters. Once they got within range, the surviving tanks began to open fire. Even with the night-vision goggles, their line of sight was quite limited.
"Hey, think I just saw one of their vehicles destroyed!" Thomas pointed, referring to a fire in the distance. Although miles away, due to the complete lack of light from other sources, it was seen quite clearly. The men and women who heard his claim gave a brief cheer and then continued to move.
No further air raids came, the one thing that might have forced them to delay their counterattack long enough for the lizards to fortify or at least retreat and regroup. "Halt!" The radio screamed.
"Have they lost their minds?" Katherine demanded. "We've got those goddamn lizards!" Over the past few minutes, few artillery shells or tank rounds came their way, raising morale of everyone around them.
"They're surrendering; take them prisoner and do not open fire!" The lieutenant ordered. "If you're dumbshit enough to kill them, you'll get a court-martial, if you're lucky. Is that clear?!" Everyone responded in the affirmative.
The lizards marched towards them with their hands up, throwing down their weapons where the army could see them. "Probably nervous we're going to cut them down on sight," Thomas admitted. Melanie had to admit the temptation, despite being warned of the consequences. She was far from the only one. They would have deserved for attacking her country and her family with no provocation.
Their surrender, however, came without problems. Many of them looked to be in poor health from the nerve gas. As incomplete as the Allies' protection was, the lizards were considerably worse. Many looked pathetically grateful to be given the opportunity to give up. "It's almost like they're expecting to be killed," Mark stated.
"Afraid we're going to take revenge; they should be!" Melanie snarled.
"Still, I think they've figured out they can't win." Mark smiled. "Didn't their leader order them to fight to the last man?"
"Well, the faster they give up, the sooner we can go home." Thomas stated. No one could help but agree with that.
XXXXXXXXXX
October 25, 1983:
Liberation day! Rafael thought jubilantly. Los Angeles had finally been relieved of its siege, after what seemed like several lifetimes of agony. At the moment, it didn't matter that they were still homeless, living in tents. It didn't matter that the war still wasn't over; they were free!
And with that freedom came food, more food that Rafael could have dreamed of. The Americans, British, Canadians, Australians, and even the Soviets were doing everything they could to keep them supplied now that the lizards were no more. Before everything happened, much of it was food he would have refused to even go near, much less consume; now it was the best thing he had ever tasted.
Once the Allied soldiers had finally retaken the city and saw what the lizards had done, some of the prisoners were massacred as a result; between 7,000 and 10,000 were killed. Rafael couldn't bring himself to care. Far as he was concerned, they had it coming.
Nena was groaning, clutching her stomach. Their parents cautioned her not to eat too quickly, but she had stubbornly refused to heed their words. Rafael only barely managed to do so himself.
"Well... happy birthday, son, even if it is a bit late." Edwardo responded with a smile.
"Hard to believe sometimes," Rafael was now fifteen years old, but it seemed like he had aged two decades in the past two years. His birthday was on the 11th, but he had completely overlooked it, and his family had done nothing to celebrate it. On the grand scale of things, it had appeared insignificant. "So what now?"
"We enjoy our freedom and try to find a new home; shouldn't be too difficult." His mother replied. For once, he heard genuine happiness in her voice, instead of trying to appear stronger in order not to frighten her children.
"It would be nice... not that I didn't enjoy living in a tent," Rafael chuckled. Some in the tent city found new homes within hours of Los Angeles' liberation. The reason sobered him somewhat: so many had died, from the nuclear strikes, to disease, crime, hunger that there would likely be many available places. He had heard nothing about the death toll; hell, he didn't even want to think about it, but it kept popping up in his mind.
"It won't be easy- never said it would be- but we will survive." Edwardo announced, taking a brief break from his meal. "Might even have a bit of a gut again."
"Daddy, you're not fat!" Bianca giggled. His father ruffled her hair and put his arm around her shoulder.
"So when are we going to get a new home?" Rafael asked. He was less than sure he even wanted to live in Los Angeles anymore. The smog, the crime... that he had gotten accustomed to over the course of his short life. What he had seen and endured at the lizards' hands, however, was something that would stay with him forever. His old city had far too many evil memories for him to ever truly feel like he was at home again.
"We're still searching and they're in the process of repairing all the damaged buildings." Edwardo informed. "In fact, I've managed to grab a job opportunity there." Everyone else protested in horror.
"Have you lost your fucking mind?" Rafael screamed. His mother was so worried herself that she didn't punish him or cover his sisters' ears, even though they had heard the word many times before. He was too frightened to keep quiet, though. His mind was full of horrifying images of half-melted people, covered in burns, begging for death. He had only barely survived it, and his father was going back into it.
"Yes, I am; we need a home and we need an income." Edwardo snapped, daring his family to argue.
"I won't accept that; you can find a job somewhere else!" His mother snapped at him. Ordinarily, she let her husband take charge of things, but not now. "I would rather live in this tent for the rest of my life than see you walking into radiation! I don't care how much we need the money, how much they're offering you; you're not going!" Bianca and Nena ran out of the tent, their usual strategy for getting away from their arguing parents.
After a few moment's thought, Rafael left as well after getting one last piece of food. While he knew little about nuclear bombs, he did realize that they could be deadly even after they had been detonated. When he was in recovery, he heard doctors worrying about long-term effects, although no one had ever bothered to tell him any of the details.
Although they were small, his sisters were fast, and could run for what seemed like forever. Rafael struggled to keep up, not wanting to lose them in the crowd. Even if the fighting was over, the danger had not yet passed. He started panting, forcing himself to quicken his speed. Both of them were the family's risk takers.
Rafael had finally located them half a mile away, by which point he was gasping for breath. Even with the improved rations, his body had still not fully recovered. Bianca and Nena were simply sitting there, staring off into space. They had done their best to protect them from traumatizing events, but there were certain things you couldn't hide no matter how much you might have wanted to. Rafael sat down beside them, waiting to see if they would say anything.
Bianca started crying a few moments later; Nena soon followed. Rafael simply sat there, uncertain of what to do. He wanted to hug them, tell them everything would be fine, but both had them had always acted with anger when he tried doing so in the past. Cautiously, he put his arm around Nena's shoulder, saying. "We're going to be fine," He didn't believe that himself, but he had to say something to them.
"I don't want to be here anymore!" Bianca sobbed. "I want to live somewhere else, where daddy and mama won't die!"
"Come on, they're both tough; they'll be fine." Rafael tried to reassure. He would rather live somewhere, anywhere than Los Angeles, but if his parents were staying, there was little he could do about it. He said nothing else to them, wrapping his arms around their shoulders. They simply sat there, instead of angrily shrugging him off as they would have in the past.
"I'm sorry for crying." Bianca apologized, sniffing and wiping her eyes. "I'm just scared about Mama and Daddy."
"And I miss our Grandmas and Grandpas." Nena agreed. All their grandparents who stayed were now dead. The siege had taken its highest toll on the elderly. Most were unable to get the medical care they needed, and some had even sacrificed themselves to ensure their family members had enough to eat. After the nuclear detonation, care had prioritized among younger individuals who were considered to have a better chance of survival.
"It's ok; I'm worried too." Rafael replied. Despite his mom's arguments, he knew his dad would probably do it anyway. Being a hard-working man was a part of his identity and no matter the danger, he would stubbornly push through. His attitude had kept them off the streets more than once, but now it could cost him his life. "Let's go. Mom and Dad are probably getting worried about up."
He hoisted himself to his feet, waiting to see if his sisters would follow. With some reluctance, they did. Nena still had a few sniffles, but the twins had cheered up somewhat. All of them were worried, though: there was no doubt about it. Rafael had hoped that when the city was freed, their worries would finally be over, but no such luck.
Once they arrived back at their tent, his parent's arguments was still continuing. In fact, it did not seem that either of them even noticed their children's brief departure. "I'm going, that's final, and nothing you can say will change my mind!" Edwardo shouted, marching out of the tent in a huff. His mother looked to be on the verge of tears, but attempted and failed to act like nothing happened.
"Are you ok, Mom?" Rafael asked.
"I'm fine, sweetheart." His mother plastered an obviously fake smile on her face.
"It's ok, Mama." Bianca hugged her around her legs. Nena soon joined in. Upset as they were, they still wanted to try and make her feel better.
Should have expected it, Rafael thought, only barely keeping from tears himself. The fact he had larger tear ducts was the only circumstance holding it back. Even if he was mostly glad his father was still doing everything he could to look out for his family, Rafael hoped that he wouldn't end up getting killed for his stubbornness.
The initial joy of freedom was beginning to wear off. Sure, they weren't in danger of starvation from the lizards anymore, but they were still homeless. What were they going to do now? How were they going to support themselves? Even though he was aware of the danger, Rafael was thinking about getting a job himself. I'm fifteen years old and old enough to get one, Construction wouldn't take him, but there had to be something he could do.
That night, he heard scuffles within the tent city, although Rafael couldn't pinpoint where they came from. The fight ended with screams of agony and departing footsteps. With no other noise to drown it out, it was very audible even from a large distance.
Now that Los Angeles was free, it also meant that most of the soldiers were departing. That fact chilled him to the blood. He had seen homeless people around his whole life and witnessed how often they were mugged, beaten up, even killed. Rafael liked to think he was tough, but knew he didn't stand a chance in hell against a gangbanger or any sort of criminal.
He wished he could seal the entire tent up, but it didn't provide any safety at all. Rafael felt around in his pocket for a switchblade he had carried with him since the incident at the beach months ago. His mother would be horrified; his father knew, but both of them pretended that he didn't. Never those I'd begin to miss those scaly bastards, Rafael thought.
XXXXXXXXXX
October 27, 1983:
I hope this contraption works, Vladimir Yankov said privately. It was certainly an ambitious project, one that the Soviet Union had been attempting for over a decade.
Currently, they were somewhere in the northern half of Siberia; he had not gotten any further details. Vladimir and his companions had been boarded on a plane, forbidden to know or even ask where they were going. He had long since learned better than the question it.
They had arrived at what everyone declared was a grandiose piece of construction. Silos hundreds of feet deep and almost as wide. Vladimir almost believed that the location held their few remaining ICBMs before he saw the project for itself. It wasn't holding an ICBM; it was something far more dangerous than that.
Looking up, he couldn't help but marvel at the Space Shuttle the Soviet Union had constructed. These weren't rockets that would simply go up a few hundred kilometers and land a few days later; they were marvel, equivalent to the Apollo 11 mission fourteen years previous. Vladimir had trained as an cosmonaut in the Soviet Space program, and was fortunate to have survived the initial attack on their launching pad.
"I've always wanted to ride on one of these things," fellow Cosmonaut Georgi Rasputin remarked. Vladimir was nearing forty, while Rasputin looked almost childlike. On most days, he was dour and pessimistic even by Soviet standards, but now he was positively beaming. Unlike Vladimir, he had previously been in the Soviet Navy, not the Air Force, but had managed to secure himself a place on what was considered a top-secret and critical mission.
Vladimir moved to the right, observing the nuclear weapons placed onto the ship. Just on the eight, he had counted eight warheads and he had no doubt that there were likely at least twice that many. I would like to see the lizards' response when they see this. Unlike their ICBMs, this shuttle would be able to move beyond Low Earth Orbit to where the lizards were currently residing.
The final preparations were being made. Vladimir got into his suit, muttering to himself, making a mental list of everything he had to do. After the fourth time he looked everything over, he was mostly satisfied that everything was in order. He might have had an opportunity to strike a great blow against the lizards, but he couldn't help but feel slightly nervous. The lizards had far superior forces in orbit, even though the base was supposedly hundreds of kilometers away from the nearest aircraft.
I knew the risk when I volunteered, Vladimir gave a mental shrug. Rasputin was moving slightly slower. Vladimir had heard rumors that he only received his position because his father was a high-ranking party member. He had no evidence either way, but Vladimir dearly hoped that true or not, that he was competent enough to help make sure they came home alive.
The ladder was brought out and the five cosmonauts began their ascent. Vladimir moved slowly but steadily, ignoring the muttering of the people behind him. Heights made him nervous, an ironic fear for an experienced fighter pilot. He took a deep breath and climbed slightly faster, making sure to hold onto the rails firmly the entire time.
He secured himself inside, looking over the instruments. Boris Golov, Georgi Rasputin, Pavel Zykov, and Roman Mishin followed. Like himself, they were doing their best to hide how nervous they were. Vladimir checked his suit one last time just to be sure. It'll be close to an hour before we're cleared, anyway. He thought. The final checks had to be made, the launch pad had to be cleared, and communication needed to be confirmed.
"We'll be able to make the lizards suffer, as long as the devil's grandfather doesn't mess anything up." Mishin declared. He was in charge of deploying the weapons, all twenty warheads.
"This is base 451; please respond." The radio uttered, making sure the communications were working.
"We hear you, loud and clear." Rasputin responded.
"Affirmative; time to launch: fifteen minutes." The crew was informed. Already many of the personnel were rushing to a safe distance. Vladimir only hoped the base was large enough and resistant enough not to fall to pieces as they launched. Building above ground would have been easier, but they would have been much more visible, and it was critical that this mission succeed.
At five minutes to launch, the silo was completely sealed. Each second clicked by slowly. The five cosmonauts looked at one another, each of them knowing the risks involved in this mission.
Four minutes. Vladimir hoped that the six inches of steel would be enough to protect everyone else from the massive column of smoke and heat. The silo was three times the width of the rocket for precisely that reason. "I'm glad we don't have lizard planes to deal with, the way we would have in the past." Zykov remarked, fidgeting slightly.
Two minutes. Boris Golov ordered them to monitor the instruments. They would be in orbit for at least a couple of hours as they hunted down lizard starships. Boris clicked a couple of buttons, muttering to himself. From what Vladimir knew about him, he was a perfectionist to a far greater degree than was typical in the Soviet Union.
He had lost count of the countdown, for Zykov activating the engines took him by surprise. Even inside the rocket and his suit, the noise was nearly deafening. Vladimir felt a massive weight pressing against his chest. His body was completely immobile; he couldn't so much as move his fingers up and down. His eyes widened, hoping that everything would go smoothly, that the rocket would not blow to pieces. Their space program had many failures in its history.
Thus far, the launch had proceeded exactly as planned. The Proton-K would reach Low Earth Orbit within a minute. Vladimir's man concern now was lizard aircraft finding and shooting them down before they could reach their goal. The possibility was remote- the launch would have been canceled had any enemy aircraft been spotted- but it remained in the back of his mind nonetheless.
"How are you holding up?" Rasputin asked him, taking a deep breath.
"Tolerable," Vladimir responded. He was still unable to move more than a few inches, but breathing was slowly becoming easier.
"Best moment of my life," Zykov smiled. "I may die here, but at least I can say I went into space first."
True, but the lizards must have accomplished this thousands of years ago? Vladimir thought. A ship that could travel between the stars... that would be a truly grand accomplishment. Their space program had already seen a lot more interest and funding since they came, renewing the Space Race.
At 1,400 kilometers, they leveled off, traveling in Earth's orbit at approximately 8 kilometers per second. "No lizard ships detected yet." Boris announced. It was likely the ships would spread out throughout Earth, and unfortunately, altering the Proton-K's orbit to any great degree would be extremely difficult.
"Receiving authorization codes," Mishin mentioned, arming two of the warheads on the craft.
"Where are we?" Vladimir asked. From such a height, he could barely make out which continent was which.
"We're entering the Pacific Ocean." Rasputin mentioned. "Has anyone spotted any of their starships yet?" That would be worse than getting shot down. If they traveled through orbit and still had no opportunity to hit them, the mission would be an utter failure and meant the lizards would be wise to their attempts next time.
"Negative," Zykov stated. Hopefully, the other shuttles were having better luck. The Soviet Union launched 2, the United States 5, Britain one. All of them had different orbits, different launch pads. It was little more than rumor, but Vladimir did hear some wanted to wait until they had more.
Ten minutes later, their luck began to change. Two lizard starships had been spotted, moving at approximately the same speed. Mishin typed in the launch codes once again, and Rasputin began turning the shuttle to have a direct line of sight. The two ships were approximately sixty kilometers away, only barely visible with the naked eye.
"It's away!" Mishin cheered, launching the two missiles, each armed with 60-kiloton warheads. Even those were not enough to vaporize the ships, but they had been turned into little more than slag, killing all lizards that currently resided in them. A strong cry of jubilation came from all five cosmonauts. Even in death, the lizards would not have bought anything cheap.
"Do they have any defenses on those ships at all?" Zykov asked.
"No, they're little but unarmed transports." Boris responded. "Their planes can't reach us up here, and their starships have no weapons. We are a wolf among the deer!"
Throughout the next orbit, his words proved true. Three more starships were destroyed with the lizards unable to evade or deflect. Over the course of the human missions, while 3 of the shuttles were destroyed and their crews killed, twenty six Race starships were reduced to slag orbiting around Earth, with all their occupants killed.
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October 30, 1983:
Betvoss was cold. He was always cold now. Big Ugly clothing was in short supply now, as was everything else, and what little he was wearing happened to be insufficient to keep him comfortable in the harsh climate.
The counter-offensive had begun with such promise. At first when Males of the Race heard the orders, many of them were wondering if Straha was completely addled, included many of his supporters. However, the gamble initially appeared to have worked. Donetsk was successfully held and the Big Uglies were driven back. It reminded him vaguely of the first days of the invasion, where the Race seemingly swept all before them, even if they were taking heavy casualties in the process.
Most of the Tosevite prisoners they took had been killed, as speed was considered essential and grabbing and detaining Prisoners of War was considered a waste of time. Too bad for them, of course, but as they were only Big Uglies, it didn't matter that much to the Race. A few questioned the rightness of that, but only to themselves.
Their offensive began to stymie twenty days ago. Too many landcruisers were destroyed, there were few killercraft left, and the Race ran out of fuel for what vehicles still remained intact. With their starships in orbit, they had no ability to reproduce more, and a large raid conducted by the Big Uglies destroyed most of their remaining supplies.
Once the Race was weakened, the USSR launched another offensive even more devastating than their first. Some Males, braver than others (or perhaps addled by ginger) volunteered to hold them back, allowing the rest of them to escape and regroup.
Plans rarely went well when fighting against the Big Uglies; that had been a rule since day one of the invasion. This time, however, it was an utter disaster. The Russians simply bypassed the choke points they could, wiped out the ones too strong to ignore, and attacked the Race with all their strength. With their tanks outnumbered nearly ten to one, there was little the Race could do.
Betvoss sighed to himself. What's the point of continuing? He asked himself. This war was utterly lost. He no longer heard even the overly optimistic broadcasts coming from the video feeds; all of them had gone utterly silent. He had heard nothing about how the war was going since arriving in Donetsk. Where was he now? Some alien forest that he knew nothing about, like everyone else in his unit.
"Superior sir, what are we going to do now?" Betvoss asked.
"We follow our orders and fight on," Votal sounded more weary than Betvoss had ever seen him. Just two days ago, they had been forced to retreat twenty Tlocks to the West (40 kilometers) because the Russians outflanked them and attempted to cut them off. Far too many males were not so fortunate and were completely encircled. The Infantry Leader had seen the trap coming, but with so little equipment, foresight had made little difference.
"For what?" Utriel snarled. He was forced to use a Big Ugly tool, making digging for cover slow and cumbersome. The mud made it even less pleasant than the task would have been otherwise. "Why are we even bothering to fight! This war is over!"
"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Votal warned him. "And be grateful that I didn't." While Betvoss believed his superior likely felt the same way as the rest of his squad, he felt duty-bound to follow Straha's orders, no matter how suicidal they might have been.
"It shall be done, superior sir." Nesser practically spat the word. It was slow, but the foxhole was finally finished, and the four of them huddled as close together as they could. It made them a bigger target and in fact other males had died in just those circumstances, but sharing body heat was one of the few ways they had left to stay warm.
Tosevite aircraft launched another raid in conjunction with their artillery. The Race answered back as best they could, but with so few guns left, it made no appreciable difference. A few enemy aircraft were destroyed, their pilots killed, but it made little dent in their war machine.
Betvoss huddled tightly in his hole, trying to think about something else other than the cold and the probability that he would die on an alien world in a losing cause. Fortunately, the artillery drowned out his words so none of his comrades heard him utter them. He wasn't sure if they had an infinite amount of ammunition, but they certainly behaved that way.
He covered his ears to drown out the shelling, praying to the Spirits of Emperors past that he would live through the bombardment. Part of him, however, thought it would be best if it was simply over. If Betvoss died, he would be with the Spirits of Emperors Past, at peace and healing from everything he had endured on Tosev 3.
"They're making another advance; be ready." Votal ordered.
"It shall be done, superior sir." Betvoss sighed. They wouldn't make just a frontal advance. The Russians were going to encircle their forces and destroy them. Why couldn't any of his superiors see that? Perhaps they didn't see it. Perhaps there was simply nothing they could do about it.
Why are we even bothering to fight this war, then? Betvoss screamed to himself. The Big Uglies had transitioned to a wartime economy and it was quite evident that nothing the Race could do would even put a dent in that. He had felt a brief glimmer of hope when asteroids began to be used against the enemy, but it had quickly died.
"The enemy is attacking!" The radio warned. "Repeat, the enemy is attacking, possibly in three directions! Orders are to attempt a counterattack!"
Betvoss had heard a lot of foolish orders, but that was one of the dumbest he had heard since he arrived on this miserable iceball of a planet. Attack an enemy with far more men and far more equipment than they currently possessed? What could that possibly accomplish except to get more males of the Race killed?
"Have they gone completely addled?" Nesser demanded furiously. "Are they trying to get us killed?!" He did not move at all from their hole. With artillery shells continuing to rain down on them, advancing would be little more than suicide.
"These orders came from Fleetlord Straha himself." Votal informed them. That stopped their protests, but only for a brief period of time. "He wants us to counterattack and retake the Ukraine portion of the USSR." He sounded deeply unhappy about these words and clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction.
"We can't; we're barely staying alive!" Betvoss snarled. "Are we advancing anywhere on this planet, anywhere at all?" If they were, the news feeds would have mentioned it, no matter how insignificant it might have been as a whole.
"I'm not going to let that addled fleetlord get us all killed!" Utriel bellowed, throwing his rifle away. "The only reason we're fighting is for his own personal glory!"
"Do you dare speak of... mutiny?" Even mentioning the word was an enormous effort for Votal. He stared at his subordinate in astonishment, sheer disbelief keeping him from threatening him with discipline. Surrendering when ordered to fight to the death was bad enough, but outright refusing to participate in an attack the Fleetlord ordered? His mind could barely comprehend such a thing.
Betvoss marveled at the stand Utriel had taken. His mind debated on whether or not to follow him. Like most males, he knew the war was lost. No attack was going to change it, even if Emperors past personally intervened to allow them a victory. His grip on his weapon began to loosen, even though he did not throw it away as Utriel had. He had only four clips for his weapon and no way of getting more.
Nor were they the only males who hesitated to go forward. A few did so, but most were cut down by Russian artillery before they could even hurt the enemy. If possible, the shelling had actually amplified and Big Ugly aircraft were making another appearance.
"I can't do this anymore," Betvoss muttered, dropping his weapon and collapsing into the mud. He curled up into a ball and refused to move.
"Neither can I; what's the point in throwing our lives away?" Nesser responded, throwing his weapon aside. He had no bullets for it anyway.
"You are Males of the Race; have you forgotten that fact?" Votal screamed at them. What could he do to males who were refusing to go forward? Communication with any of his superiors was dubious at best and he had the sinking feeling that they were not the only one refusing, so he was the male at the scene. Whatever happened next was entirely up to his discretion.
"With respect, superior sir, I haven't felt like a male of the Race for a long time." Betvoss muttered, trying to hide himself from the world. "I don't think I ever will be again."
"Truth," Utriel and Nesser agreed.
Votal considered simply shooting them for disobeying orders. There had never been any rules for this during a conquest, simply because no member of the Race ever thought it was possible. His superiors would likely clear him for punishing such a horrible deed of misconduct... assuming any of them would be left alive before long. "I could shoot you, you know." Votal threatened, trying to sound more menacing than he actually felt.
"Go ahead; it'd be a mercy after everything." Betvoss replied indifferently. Death no longer scared him. In fact, he saw it more as a release, not a punishment. Utriel and Nesser looked nearly as impassive at the threat.
In the end, however, Votal could not bring himself to execute them. They were in fact right about how the war would end, even if he could not go so far as to refuse to fight. Even he was hesitant, having so little left to fight with.
However, there was no longer time to make any such decisions. The Big Uglies located them and screamed something at them in their language. Votal hurriedly dropped his weapon, hoping they wouldn't decide to simply shoot them down where they stood. It wouldn't be the first time they had done so. The other three pushed themselves to their feet.
Now that death looked imminent, Betvoss began to become frightened. Not so much as he would have been in the past, but the fear still resided within him. "March!" One of the Big Ugly soldiers ordered, presumably the one in charge. Numbly, he and his comrades followed, not wanting to give them any excuse to shoot.
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Well, after this, I only have two more chapters and the epilogue to write. After that, Worldwar: Clash of Empires will be complete!